There was the usual hum of excitement in the Canon Con Concannon Memorial Hall last Friday night for the annual Queen of Ballybore competition.

I skipped on to a blast of Mursheen Durkin. "Bail o Dhia, a chairde Ghaeil,, agus failte romhaibh go gdti Baile an Bhora ar an ocaid iontach seo," were my opening words.

First up, Mary, representing the Home of the Hape chipper, had no poem or song, but raised the roof when she got me to face her for a Haka. It was a sad sight to see her leave prematurely clutching an ice-pack to her lower back.

I carried on as if this were a scheduled part of the act.

The third girl – Teresa, from the Are You Going For A Jugular Or Two? public house –laughed when I joked she’d come into weight since last I saw her wing-back for Ballybore – "and that was three weeks ago in the championship- but sure all your father’s people were big men too."

You could hear a pin drop during her party-piece of dancing Drowsy Maggie with a pint of Guinness on her head, though I noticed some disapproving looks among the selection panel of Paudie Palmer, Maura Harrington, and my good wife Nancy, a judge ever since completing the four-in-a-row of Queen of Ballybore titles in ‘62.*

At the interval, the committee were all over me. "Never saw you better, Noel," said the secretary. I was icy enough with her. At the last meeting, she had suggested bringing in a new compere this year – Weeshie was mentioned.

I ended the debate by paraphrasing Kevin Heffernan’s ‘Dublin men for the Dublin team’ line back in the 1950s: "A Man of Ballybore for the Queen of Ballybore – as it was, is, and ever shall be."

It was a misfortune the barrel of gas functioned so erratically while Hotel & Catering student Tiffany Cliffoney flambéed her Crème Brulee. The whiff of burning hair, mixed with Bed Head mega-firm gel (wet-look), caused a nauseous outbreak in the front rows.

All six performances of Caledonia were good, mind you, and the girl who sketched a portrait of Nancy and myself did a fine job indeed, though she had me jowlier than was absolutely necessary, and that may have proved decisive in the end.

The final girl got stuck quarter-way through her recitation of The Ballad of Reading Gaol (unabridged), but she wrapped it up within the hour.

I led one and all in a rousing chorus of the parish song – The Knee We’ll Never Bend – and the celebrations went on late into the night when the winner Daisy Maguire (who wrote her own poem) was crowned The Queen of Ballybore, to the delight of her husband and three young children, all present to share in the proud moment.

Personally, I felt the standard of girl was as good as any other year, a fact I will allude to in my Editorial for The Ballybore Bugle this Christmas.

* Nancy bowed out then under the five-year rule, but later came back to win it on one more occasion, between children No. 4 and No. 5.

Noel is his own sub-committee. Email This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it ; visit www.knowledgeablenoel.com; Skype (knowledgeable.noel); and Facebook (Knowledgeable Noel.)

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